


Coming Home

by WhySoMelancholy



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25641388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhySoMelancholy/pseuds/WhySoMelancholy
Summary: The two now made one, the urSkeks have departed from Thra and left the Crystal of Truth in the hands of Jen and Kira, who made their world in its light. Jen, now a grown adult, returns to his childhood home in the Valley of the Mystics; a place once full of life now stands frozen in time from the last moments the Mystics were here.
Kudos: 6





	Coming Home

He remembered the Valley. He remembered how it had seemed to stretch on and on as if it went on forever. He remembered the Spring where he used to bathe and play his _firca_ and enjoy the company of the creatures that lived there. He remembered how the Mystics had loved and cared for him, how he’d learned from them all. But those were only memories, now. The Mystics were gone, and the only proof they had ever existed was the Valley and their belongings they had left behind, a vacant shell of a home he once knew.

An eerie, empty silence hangs overhead. Tattered cloth hangs on a clothing line flutter in the wind, aged with time as strands of fibers unravel with every breeze. Ornaments and various wind - chimes collide softly against another. It’s just as it was left those many years ago; instruments, pots, and pans, looms, all untouched, as if their owners would soon return to them. The wooden spiral walkway creaks as Jen sets foot upon it, rotted with age yet still able to withstand his weight.

He imagined the mystics in their caves and workstations; he could see urAmaj the Cook among his pots and spices, urUtt the Weaver at his weaving loom as he made clothes and saddle – blankets. urTih’s workstation with his chemicals and substances and urYod’s abacuses were left as they were. A hand reaches to move one of the beads on the smaller abacus, but Jen pulls back his hand as he’d thought it better to leave them at rest. urZah’s intricate sand mandalas for rituals were the only things that seemed to be lost with time; disturbed by the elements or creatures.

Once he reaches the top of the walkway to the last cave, Jen stops, as if his body would go no further. This cave was the one he shared with his master, urSu, the wisest of the mystics. This was where his journey began. A hesitant step is taken inside, gaze looking anywhere but the sleeping frame that sat in the middle of his once – home. He pauses by his own small bed carved into the wall of the cave. His blankets were as he’d left them that morning; how would he have known this would be the last time he woke up in this cave, the last time he would go bathe in the Spring and play his flute there? How would he have known it would be the last time he would speak to his master? Jen takes the blanket in his hands – it’s much too small to cover him now, but as he brings it to his nose, he lets the strong, nostalgic scent of what once was fill his mind. Old clay toys he had made as a childling sit on a small shelf beside his bed; a myriad of figures adorned the space: mystics, gelflings, and other creatures, mostly. Scrolls are strewn all over the floor, books left opened to pages last read. Some of this writing was his; Jen could pick out his hand among the many scribbles, and as he picked up a random scroll, he wipes a single tear from his eye as the first sentence he found read, “I wish there was someone here like me.”

Finally, blue-hued gaze meets the sleep – frame, and, as if upon instinct Jen kneels before it. His last conversation with his master was here. As urSu lay dying he had sent Jen on a dangerous quest, and forever his life was changed. Jen could still imagine the massive bulk of the old mystic that had slept here, how he had vanished after his passing into completely nothing as if he were nothing but a thought, a memory.

Head bows as his brow furrows. He doesn’t have any words, and he almost doesn’t want to break the silence that envelops him. Would his master be proud? If his master could see him now, would be he smiling? Jen didn’t think himself a hero, only someone who did what needed to be done on behalf of a death wish. After all, he was only a gelfling. How could one gelfling save all of Thra, was the question he asked the most. But he did, and yet, he still felt lost.

❝ I miss them, Master, ❞ is all he can think to say. ❝ I miss **you.** ❞ Jen hadn’t gotten to properly say goodbye when urSu had passed, as urZah had sent him on his way after the funeral was concluded. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to any of them. That was the song Thra had played, and Jen had no choice but to follow the rhythm. That was one of their final teachings to him.

❝ Thank you, Master. For everything. ❞ A hand reaches out to touch the head of the sleep – frame as if his master’s hand would reach out and meet his own like he had used to do so often. ❝ I wish you happiness and peace wherever you are. ❞ He bows his head in silent prayer before slowly rising to his feet again. One last look at what was once called home is spared before slowly turning to walk back the way he had come.

He remembered the Valley. He remembered the old, old masters with their songs and chants. He remembered the gentle beings who had loved and cared for him.

And he always would.

**Author's Note:**

> This is another oldie I carried over from my tumblr. What if Jen went back to the Valley? I had to do it. I feel like he'll always miss the mystics, especially his master since he raised him and all. He was like a father to him. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
